Pure Requiem - Aja James Page 0,40
concrete jungle.
The garden encompasses the entire rooftop, about five-thousand square feet in size, expanding beyond the perimeter of our apartment. Ingeniously, it is enclosed on three sides by the towers that extend up into the sky as part of the “skyscraper” that houses the Shield. On the one side that is open, the Bay meets the horizon, while other tall buildings rise like man-made mountains around the water.
There are no windows in the towers that shield our garden from view. And unless one of those modern aircrafts hover directly overhead, no one would be able to spy on our little slice of heaven.
Fruit and flower trees have been transplanted here with laborious care. Some even large enough to provide shade on a hot summer’s day. Flowers of every variety, even the unusual ones that need extra care, bloom with abandon as if they hadn’t been meticulously groomed and cultivated to do just that.
Mostly, the rooftop is covered with thick, soft grass, broken only by smooth, concrete paths. Sophia mentioned that she wanted a prettier pebbled path, but Ishtar convinced her that bumps in the road are not best appreciated by a blind man.
A small pagoda sits in the northeast corner, overlooking a large rectangular pool toward the garden, as well as surveying the Bay view beyond. It is large enough to house gigantic sofas, piled with cushions and pillows. In truth, they look and feel like two king-sized beds pushed together.
Ishtar loves to take catnaps here.
Steam rises from retractable vents in the ground. I suppose this is especially useful during cold seasons. Our garden is always open for enjoyment, no matter the temperature outside.
All of this is how Ishtar describes the rooftop paradise to me. I can well imagine it. And I’ve walked every corner and path to know the layout in my mind down to the last detail.
“I am hungry, my love,” Ishtar purrs beside me, wrapping both her arms around one of mine. “Will you feed me?”
“Dinner is downstairs,” I reply, thinking of the meat and potatoes I prepared, that now need to be reheated. “Shall I bring—”
“I’m not hungry for food,” she growls, putting her hands on my naked chest.
“I am hungry for you.”
My body locks reflexively, my muscles tensing to stone.
This is the first in a very long time that she has demanded anything physical from me. She has been taught by my flinching reactions that such overtures are not welcome. Or rather, that I do not respond as a Pure male who loves his female should.
She feels my stress under the pads of her fingers, beneath her heated palm. But she doesn’t immediately pull away like she always does when I react this way. Instead, she digs her fingertips further into my skin. Her body temperature, already hotter than mine, a characteristic difference between our Kinds, rises even further.
She is not backing down from what she wants this time.
I settle my hands on her shoulders, to push her away or to pull her close, it is not clear.
My Mated male instincts want to crush her body to mine, to thrust deeply into her tight, welcoming heat, to join our flesh seamlessly together—until we are truly one. But my learned aversion to touch tenses me for fight or flight.
Not this night, I determine. Tonight, I want to start anew.
I want to be free.
No more secrets. No more hiding. Even if she hurts me, even if it kills me, I will give her everything.
“Then you shall have me, ana Ishtar,” I murmur against her hair, pulling her close and wrapping my arms around her.
“You shall have all of me.”
A primal growl reverberates through her chest and throat. The nails of her hands turn slightly to claws, sharp enough to dig shallow gouges into my pecs, drawing blood.
I hiss at the small pain that feels so pleasurable, more addictive to me than any gentle caress.
She slowly laps the droplets of blood away, lingering on my nipples, nipping the beaded pebbles with her teeth.
More blood. More slow licks to soothe the pain and heal the scratches.
“I don’t want to hold back with you tonight,” she rumbles, her voice husky with predatory desire.
“Then don’t,” I answer with a certainty that my soul embraces, while my mind still struggles to process.
“I might break you.” Her voice is both teasing and edged with subtle threat.
She is a Dark One, after all. At least half of her. The other half contains her animal spirit, the Great White Beast. Combined, she is danger, power